Pieces and Particulars
by starry19
Summary: 7x06 Tag - "He could feel the slight cracks in the enameled surface, the places where she'd glued it back together. She'd done an excellent job, but it would never look like new. That was okay, in his opinion. It meant more this way. It meant everything."
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** Hello there! Do you know it's been almost a month since my last story? WOW! Anyhow. This one will (probably) be a two-parter, since I have a lot to say from Lisbon's POV, too.

What an episode! I nearly died at the end of it. In fact, I was too busy re-watching the last two minutes to even remember we had a promo, too! Someone give Simon Baker an award, because he absolutely owned that last scene.

**Pieces and Particulars**

He couldn't remember the last time he'd struggled so much for composure. Whatever he'd been expecting, it certainly hadn't been turquoise porcelain.

Shoes, maybe, though Lisbon knew how much he loved the ones he had. A novelty tea infuser, perhaps. Something silly, something that would make him laugh.

Instead, he'd nearly cried.

He could feel the slight cracks in the enameled surface, the places where she'd glued it back together. She'd done an excellent job, but it would never look like new. That was okay, in his opinion. It meant more this way. It meant everything.

She'd kept all the pieces.

He had a heartbreaking image of her, on her knees in the old CBI, painstakingly gathering every fractured shard. Had she done it before he'd killed Thomas McAllister? After? Did she have any idea of what was coming in the next few years?

When did she put it back together? Before he'd kissed her? If he'd never gotten on that plane, would she have taken the thing to DC?

A million questions came to the surface of his mind, but he was unable to give a voice to any of them. Not just yet.

So he drank his champagne, kissed her again, never taking his eyes off her. She was a wonder.

They shared his cupcake, and he teasingly dropped a dollop of frosting on the tip of her nose.

"Watch it," she warned. "I will absolutely smash this whole thing in your face."

He followed her inside a bit later, teacup in one hand, bottle of champagne in the other. Carefully, almost reverently, he put the cup away. It would go to work with him in the morning, but he was taking no chances until then.

Lisbon wrapped her arms around him, and he pulled her close. He could feel the familiar tension in her small body, knew where this was going to end up.

But for the moment, he just needed to put his face in her neck and breathe.

Her fingers slid into his hair, and he locked his hands at the small of her back. "I love you," he whispered, and she pressed closer.

"Love you, too," she murmured.

He knew she did. Knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt. And yet, she still kept coming up with ways to prove it.

Even though she disliked the Airstream, she made a point of dividing their time equally between the trailer and her house. She was determined not to push him past the point of his comfort in this new relationship.

Defending his plans to Abbott with none of the hesitation that had marked the years they had been in California. She just trusted him blindly.

Reassembling a broken cup that had once been his favorite. Not because it was expensive or an antique, but because he had cared about it.

Of course, after putting all of the pieces that made up Patrick Jane back together, a teacup was probably a breeze.

He nuzzled her neck, still feeling overwhelmed. Hell, he had been overwhelmed before he had even opened her present. Lisbon was making a point tonight of celebrating his life.

"Make a wish," she'd whispered.

So he had. He could have gone for grand or exorbitant. Instead, already feeling grateful to the universe, he'd simply wished for her to be at his side the next time he had a birthday.

That covered a lot of ground - it meant they would still be together, meant that she wouldn't have gotten killed by a stray bullet doing some impossibly dangerous thing for the FBI.

Carefully, he tugged the elastic band out of her hair, feeling the silky strands slide through his fingers.

"I have one more present for you," she told him, voice a little mischievous.

Hoping his eyes still weren't wet, he pulled back to look at her. "Oh?"

She grinned as she pulled a red bow out of her pocket and stuck it on her head. "And before you think that's not a special gift, I'd just like to inform you that you have no idea what I have on under these clothes."

"I wasn't thinking anything of the sort," he promised her. It was absolutely the truth. He was still stunned every time he took her to bed. He was just getting better at hiding it, better at working through it. "But now that you mention it, I am very curious to see what you're wearing." Methodically, he undid the first two buttons on her shirt, just enough to see the beginnings of lace and satin.

He pulse ticked up a notch.

He bent forward, placed a hot kiss on her newly exposed skin, smiled when he saw she had goosebumps.

In another minute, she was standing before him in her new lingerie, Jane discovering he was quite eager to unwrap his final present. "You're so gorgeous," he murmured, nose sliding along her collarbone, hands on her hips. "What am I going to do with you?"

She stepped forward, pressed herself flush against him. Then she rose onto her tip toes, pausing a moment to tug on his earlobe with her teeth, before she whispered, "Whatever you want."

He swallowed. Hard.

"Bed," he managed to get out, turning them in the right direction, stopping only to grab the half-empty bottle of champagne before joining her beneath the duvet cover.

It took him a long time to catch his breath after, laying with his head against her breasts. They were both trembling, a little sticky from the champagne he'd insisted on drinking off of her bare skin.

"Best birthday I've had in an eternity," he told her, still panting.

He could hear the smile in her voice when she spoke. "I'm glad. I wanted to make you happy."

He traced a finger down her side. "You always make me happy."

Softly, she pinched him. "You know what I mean."

Penitentially, he kissed the curve of one breast. "I know what you mean. You succeeded. I was very, very happy. And very, very surprised."

Months ago, sitting in an Italian restaurant, she'd warned that she might surprise him some day. Nothing could beat her walking into that interrogation room in Florida, but she'd done it a few times since then. Strange - he'd thought he'd known her so well, that she was predictable, at least to him. It wasn't a bad thing, not at all. Indeed, he'd gotten through many long, lonely hours in exile by playing the "What Would Lisbon Do in this Scenario" game.

It was thrilling and a little scary to know she could keep secrets from him.

He felt the same about the idea that perhaps _she_ was the one who could predict what _he_ wanted.

For his entire life, he'd kept people at a safe distance, until Angela broke in. After her death, he'd shut him self away completely, or so he'd thought. Apparently he hadn't done a very good job, since the woman beneath him had just effectively surprised the life out of him.

He thought again of his broken little teacup. At the time, it had been a good metaphor for the entire world around them - broken.

And Lisbon, his fiercely loving Lisbon, had fixed it. With a shock, he realized that this was confirmation she had loved him then, too.

And he'd left her.

Not that he'd had a choice, not really. At least, not at the time.

Closing his eyes, he relaxed into her further. He was here now. They were both here now.

"Jane?" she whispered.

"Hmm?"

Lisbon shifted. "I think I'm going to take a shower. I don't want to wake up in the morning with sheets stuck to me."

Chuckling, he rolled off of her. "Want some company?"

She raised her eyebrows. "You think we can both fit in there?" she asked, gesturing vaguely towards his tiny bathroom that held the equally tiny shower.

He shrugged. "Maybe. I think it'll be fun to try."

"Fine," she muttered, wriggling out from beneath the blankets. "It's your birthday, and if you want us to be crammed into a shower like sardines, more power to you."

As it turned out, in one _particular_ position, they fit just fine. Of course, by the time Lisbon got around to washing her hair, the hot water was gone. With a self-satisfied grin, he noted that she didn't complain about what the hot water had been used for.

While she got dried off, he changed the sheets. It hadn't been his intention to get champagne everywhere, but the woman just wouldn't stay still. He found her bra under a pillow.

He smirked again.

Fifteen minutes later, she was snuggling into his arms, and he felt a deep sense of contentment as he stroked her wet hair.

Belatedly, he realized his wish should have been to fall asleep with her in his arms every night for the rest of his life. Since Florida, they'd only spent three nights apart - two when she was undercover in prison, and one when he was miserably ill. He hadn't liked any of them, and the only reason he'd slept when he was sick was because she had basically held him down and force-fed him medicine.

He kissed her forehead. "Goodnight, sweetheart," he murmured. He'd called her that a few times, just trying it out. It felt natural to him, and though she she'd been startled the first time she'd heard the word, she didn't react now, just smiled.

"'Night," she whispered back, cheek against his heart.

As she drifted off, he took stock of the day. It had been a good one. Bad guys were caught, he'd gotten what was hands-down his favorite birthday gift ever, and now he got to sleep next to the woman he loved.

He closed his eyes, hummed softly in appreciation.

It sounded a little like Happy Birthday.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN**: This turned out to be shorter than I had anticipated, but inspiration is a fickle master. Also, I am crazy busy, so it was basically write what you can for an hour or not at all. I chose the first option, and here's what came out.

PS: I love reviews like Patrick Jane loves his teacup.

**Pieces and Particulars**

**Chapter Two**

She didn't think she would ever get over the look on his face when he'd opened his present. He had been...stunned. And touched.

For a second, she thought he might cry.

She'd seen Jane in tears just a few times, both in very recent months. The first time had been on the plane, the second time in the hours following. And though he'd tried to hide it, she knew his face had been wet after they'd made love the first time.

All very poignant moments, all things she would remember until her dying breath.

She hadn't expected tonight to be another one.

He was asleep now, arms wrapped around her, his heartbeat beneath her cheek. She'd drifted off earlier, but had woken sometime in the night, head full of spiraling thoughts.

That silly teacup was symbolic of a great many things. First and foremost, it had been _his_, and that gave it a new level of importance.

He'd sounded surprised when he'd realized what she'd done. _You kept the pieces_. Well, of course she had. It was all she'd had left of him. Just a few shards of porcelain, and the memories that went with them. The thousand times she'd seen him standing in the break room, methodically making tea. The countless times he'd set that cup on the table beside her couch, stretched out for a nap in her office. The day it had broken on the bullpen floor, along with the rest of the world around them.

With the CBI suspended in its entirety, it hadn't been difficult to come in very early the next day and commandeer the trash bin the held the cup. For a long time after, she hadn't done anything with it.

The pieces had gone in a shoe box, first under her bed in California, then in her closet in Washington.

When she had moved to Texas, she'd thought about putting it back together. After all, they were working together again. The cup was his.

However, in between the unpacking and getting used to the FBI, she simply hadn't had the time. When it occurred to her again, Marcus was already in her life, and she and Jane were locked in this strange game of pretending they didn't know how the other felt.

The box would have gone with her to DC. She would have hidden it from Marcus for any number of reasons.

And now...now Jane had given her himself. She didn't need to hold onto some broken bits of turquoise. She had something much better. She had messy curls on the pillow next to her and ice cream on rooftops and open arms whenever she wanted them. She had lazy Sunday mornings spent making love until she couldn't think and stolen kisses in elevators and text messages reminding her she was loved when she was having a bad day.

So she'd given him the cup back.

A very good decision if she'd ever made one. Almost as good of a decision as getting off of that plane had been.

They'd left a window open in the Airstream, and she shivered lightly in the night breeze, snuggling closer to Jane. He reacted instinctively to her movements, shifting to bring her even closer.

Softly, she ran her fingers over his, feeling the warmth of his wedding ring. To her complete surprise, she had found that she really and truly wasn't bothered by it.

For years, she had thought about it as a burden, an anchor, something holding him in the darkness he'd surrounded himself with. And she'd hated it for that reason.

In the end, however, it hadn't stopped him from telling her how he felt. Hadn't stopped him from kissing her, from taking her to bed before they'd even left Florida.

If he could overcome so much, she wasn't going to be upset by a small circle of gold. He hadn't chosen to end his marriage to Angela, and if he wanted to continue to have that connection to her, Lisbon wouldn't begrudge him that. The Jane she knew wouldn't exist if Angela hadn't loved him first.

Some day, she hoped she could replace the symbol of the other woman's love with one of her own. Until then, she would be content with things the way they were.

She felt Jane's lips brush her bare shoulder. "I thought you were sleeping," came his murmur.

"I was," she told him."I just woke up."

He kissed her shoulder again. "Everything okay? Bad dreams?"

She shook her head. "Nope. Everything is just fine."

In the time they'd been together, she'd only ever had one nightmare. It had been an old one, full of red smiling faces and her haunting fear that she would lose him to his cause.

Jane himself had them a bit more frequently, though as time went by, he had them less and less. She didn't mind. In fact, she was simply grateful to be able to hold him after, to stroke his hair until his breathing slowed and his trembling eased.

The covers rustled, and he turned onto his side, facing her.

A warm, sleepy, mostly-naked Patrick Jane was something out of her most private fantasies, and she smiled a little as he brushed her hair back with his fingers.

In the beginning, she had been surprised at how easily he had adjusted to sleeping in a bed. For thirteen years (give or take), she'd been watching him steal naps on couches or lay down across plywood resting on sawhorses.

She liked to think that she was the reason for the ease of this transition, that she made the idea of a proper bed not a lonely concept. She also knew that this meant Jane really and truly wanted to be in a bed with her.

"Your place tomorrow," he told her, seemingly at random. "I have the urge to make chicken marsala, and it's much easier in your kitchen."

"Sounds great," she answered, inwardly rejoicing. Out of deference to their new relationship, she was trying to be fair with where they spent the night. But if she could pick, they would always be at her house, with the bed that was always a bed and a bathroom that actually had an outlet where she could plug in her straightener.

"And maybe the next night, too," he added. "I hate to sound old, but I think my back likes your mattress."

She chuckled, heart swelling a little with hope. "Your back is welcome to sleep in my bed as often as it wants."

He stretched, groaning for effect. "I might take you up on that. As much as I hate to admit it, things are a little easier at your house."

She knew Jane well enough to know that there was something else behind his words. In her heart of hearts, she hoped Jane wanting to be at her house more was a step towards them officially living together. But she _would not_ push. She was working on continuing to be grateful for him - _just_ him. Anything else was just icing on the cake.

She tucked herself into his side again, gently pushing him to his back, kissed the spot just over his heart.

Jane's deep exhalation stirred her hair as he wrapped his arms around her. He sounded...content, she decided.

For a brief moment, she thought about how far they had come to be in this moment. All of the hurt, the darkness, the senseless death, the lies, the obsession.

It had all led them down this path to each other. True, it had taken them a little longer to get to here than she would have liked. But the repaired teacup had reminded her that even broken things could be beautiful again, and that sometimes they were loved all the more for coming back.

She certainly loved Jane more now than she ever had, as broken as he sometimes still was. And, like the teacup, she would fix him, too. He would never be as good as he was before, never be as whole, but he would be loved even more because of it.

Her arms tightened around him for an instant.

Although he didn't speak, he hugged her back, and, like always, she knew he understood.

Sometimes having a mentalist for a boyfriend really had its perks.


End file.
